


Down the Line

by the_sky_is_forever



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Love Confessions, M/M, Phone Calls & Telephones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-29
Updated: 2015-11-29
Packaged: 2018-05-04 01:17:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5314544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_sky_is_forever/pseuds/the_sky_is_forever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Am I allowed to miss you?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Down the Line

**Author's Note:**

> from an anonymous prompt on my writing blog. (theskyis-forever)

Down the line, Enjolras hears him take a deep, slow breath in. He holds it for an alarming length of time before letting it out in a shaky rush. Silence, and then he says, “I miss you.” He asks, “Am I allowed to miss you?”

Softly, Enjolras smiles. “I think so,” he says. “I miss you, too, after all.”

“That’s definitely not allowed,” Grantaire says, and Enjolras can hear the smile in his voice and wishes desperately that he could see it too.

Amused, Enjolras asks, “And why not?”

A rush of air like a maybe-laugh comes before Grantaire says, “I haven’t the faintest idea.”

Closing his eyes, Enjolras rests his head back against the headrest of his seat on the train. His face is angled towards the window and his right hand holds the phone to his ear, knuckles white. “R?” he asks, gently, quietly. “Do you still love me?”

In the silence before Grantaire responds, Enjolras can feel the words like a weight on his heart, dreading the answer but needing to know so badly it hurts. He hears Grantaire sigh. “Yeah, Enj,” Grantaire replies at last, voice a little hoarse. “Yeah, I still love you.”

Enjolras pinches his lips together and opens his eyes to look out at the night rushing past him. “Good,” he manages to say. He says it again. “Good.” He knows he should say it back, should tell Grantaire that he still loves him, too, but he can’t, because saying it, acknowledging that their separation is absurd, would be too much. Instead, he says, “I should get some sleep.”

“Okay,” Grantaire says. Disappointment rings in the single word, and still Enjolras doesn’t say it. “Goodnight, Enjolras.”

“Goodnight, Grantaire,” Enjolras replies. He pulls the phone away from his ear and hits the end call button, staring miserably down at it for a long moment. He drops his phone onto the table in front of him and curls up in his seat, burying his face in his hands and giving in to the sobs that seem to want to shake his body into pieces.

Enjolras doesn’t cry on trains – it’s just not something he does – but he can’t help it. Being away from Grantaire is agony. The night before he left, Grantaire had taken him by the wrist and pulled him out of the party and into the night. He’d told him that he loved him, pressed a kiss against Enjolras’ cheek, and said, “I just thought that you should know.” Then, before Enjolras had a chance to react, left.

Enjolras spent the whole night agonising over it, and six hours later he was on a flight out of the country. Without saying a single word to Grantaire.

And Enjolras loves Grantaire back with all his heart. Oh, how he loves him. But there was nothing he could do about it that night, or any night that followed, because Grantaire’s in France, and Enjolras isn’t. He’s not deluded. A long-distance relationship is a terrible idea for him. He wouldn’t be able to make it work, and he knows Grantaire well enough to be able to confidently say that it wouldn’t be enough for him either.

He takes in deep gasping breaths, trying to calm himself, and he accidentally catches the eye of another passenger on the train, as they give him a concerned look. “Are you alright?” they ask, and he nods, hurriedly.

“I’m fine,” he says. “I’m fine.”

The passenger gets up and slides into the seat across from him. They reach into their messenger bag and pull out a pack of tissues. They offer one to him. He accepts it with shaking hands.

“Thank you,” he says.

“Would you like to talk about it?” the stranger asks.

Enjolras shakes his head. “It’s a long story.”

The stranger glances at their watch. “We’ve got another three hours on this train.”

Enjolras manages a watery laugh. “I’m sure you don’t want to hear about a stranger’s sob story.”

“I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t care,” the stranger says. “You don’t have to if it won’t help, but if you think it will then I’m glad to listen. How about we start with your name?”

“Enjolras,” he says, wiping under his eyes with the tissue. “And yourself?”

“Combeferre,” the passenger replies, smiling. “Now, would you like to tell me what’s got you so upset?”

Enjolras blows his nose and shrugs, weakly. He says, “I was just on the phone with a man who I’m quite certain is the love of my life.”

Combeferre’s smile widens for a moment. He leans forwards. “What’s so bad about that? He doesn’t feel the same?”

“No, he does. He just doesn’t know I do,” Enjolras tries to explain.

“Well, why don’t you tell him?” Combeferre asks.

“It’s… He’s in France,” Enjolras says abruptly. “And I’m… not. I- It’s-.” He sighs. “I didn’t know he loved me till the night before I left, and I didn’t get the chance to tell him I felt the same, and I wouldn’t have anyway, because I was leaving and there was nothing we could do about that, and neither of us are the sort of people that could pull off long-distance, but we keep calling each other and I miss him so fucking much and he just said that he still loves me and I can’t bear it. I can’t bear being away from him, it’s so fucking ridiculous because we love each other, but he’s there and I’m _here_.” He takes a deep breath to steady himself and stop himself from bursting into tears again. “I’m sorry,” he says after a moment of pulling himself together. “I’m not usually like this.”

“It’s okay,” Combeferre says. “Sounds like a tough situation. I think I’d lose it if I were separated from Courfeyrac.”

“Boyfriend?” Enjolras asks.

“Husband,” Combeferre informs him, with a small smile on his face that shows Enjolras just how much he loves him.

“Lucky,” Enjolras says.

“How long have you been away?” Combeferre asks.

“A year, three months, and thirteen days,” Enjolras replies.

“Wow,” Combeferre says. “And when are you going back?”

“About eight months and two weeks,” Enjolras says.

“So the end date is in sight,” Combeferre says, softly. “You’ve done most of it.”

“I know,” Enjolras says. “But I’ve been in love with him for so long, and I haven’t seen him in over a year, and I’m terrified that he’s going to fall in love with someone else while I’m away or realise that he can do better than someone who doesn’t say anything at all when he confesses his love.”

“Hey,” Combeferre says, “you would have said it back had the timing been right. It wouldn’t be fair to either of you to say it then, if you are correct about your characters and long-distance.”

“What would you do?” Enjolras asks, suddenly. “If you were me, and your Courfeyrac were my Grantaire, what would you do?”

“I’d have told him,” Combeferre says, simply. “I’d have told him how much I love him, and I’d have asked him to wait for me, and he would have said that we didn’t have to wait, and we’d have made it work. I don’t think that distance is a good way to start a relationship, but Courfeyrac and I were best friends since school and I think we could have made it work for the two years we were apart. I’m not trying to say you made the wrong choice; I’m saying that I would have made a different one, because we’re different people and different couples.”

Enjolras nods. “You’re right,” Enjolras says. “Grantaire… He couldn’t do a long-distance, I know he couldn’t. He’s not… He’s too physical for that.”

Combeferre smiles. “For what it’s worth, from my outsider’s opinion, I think you made the right call. You’re hurting now, but in the long run I think you made the best decision for the two of you. When you get back, in eight short months, you can tell him. From what you’ve told me, you’re not going to have stopped loving him, and I doubt that he will have either.”

“Thank you,” Enjolras says. “You didn’t have to be this nice to a total stranger.”

Combeferre laughs, softly. He has a warm, throaty laugh. It’s nice. It’s comforting. “No, I guess I didn’t. But you looked miserable and I figured I could help. Besides, this train ride was kind of dull before you started crying.”

Enjolras flushes slightly, but he smiles at Combeferre. “Like I said, I don’t usually fall apart like this. I’m just very tired and I think hearing his voice… got to me.”

“That’s perfectly understandable,” Combeferre says, gently.

“Maybe I should tell him,” Enjolras says, slowly. “I could tell him and ask him to wait for me, like you said I’m coming back in eight months, in the grand scheme of things that’s not so far away.”

Combeferre smiles. “I think that’s a good idea, if it’s what you want. It’ll definitely stop you from being so upset about being away, and it would help in making sure he doesn’t give up and move on before you get home to him.”

“I should call him,” Enjolras says. “I should call him.”

“Go ahead,” Combeferre says. “I can move, if you’d like, but I’d still be able to hear you.”

“You can stay right there, I just- I need to tell him,” Enjolras decides, pulling his phone out of his pocket. He goes to his outgoing calls and hits the first one on the list, holding the phone to his ear and trying to slow his heartbeat a little.

Grantaire picks up almost immediately. “Hey, did you arrive?”

“No, I’m still on the train, I just needed to say something to you,” Enjolras says, quickly.

“Oh, what’s up?” Grantaire asks, sounding curious.

Enjolras takes a deep breath and swallows. He meets Combeferre’s eyes, and Combeferre nods, slightly. Enjolras smiles. “I love you,” he says. “I’m so in love with you, Grantaire, and I was going to wait till I got back to tell you, because it’s so unfair to say this and not be able to do anything about it, but I love you, and I needed you to know that.”

There’s silence for a moment, and then a shaky laugh. “You love me?” Grantaire asks.

“I do,” Enjolras says, fully aware that he’s crying again, and God he’s so emotional tonight. “I love you so much, Grantaire.”

“Oh, God, I love you too,” Grantaire manages to say. It sounds like he’s crying as well. He takes a deep breath. “When do you get home?”

“Eight months,” Enjolras says. “Just eight more months, and I’ll be home. With you.”

“Eight months,” Grantaire repeats. “I can do eight more months.”

“Just wait for me,” Enjolras begs. “I’ll be back before you know it and I’ll take you out on the best date of your goddamn life, R.”

Grantaire laughs. “I can’t wait, Enj. I can’t wait to see you. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Enjolras says back. “Just wait for me.”

“I’ll wait for you,” Grantaire promises. “I’ll always wait for you, Enj.”

“Always?” Enjolras asks.

“Yeah, always. Unless you become like some mega-villain, or a capitalist or something. I might quit on you then,” Grantaire admits.

Enjolras laughs. “Well, I promise I’m not going to become a capitalist, R,” he says, and he laughs again at the confused face Combeferre pulls at him for saying that. “Can’t promise about being a mega-villain, but I’ll try my best.”

Grantaire laughs too. “I love you,” he says again, like he can’t help it.

Enjolras understands the feeling. “I love you, too.”

“Eight months, huh?” Grantaire asks.

“Eight months,” Enjolras confirms. He feels the corners of his mouth tug downwards at his smile, but he forces himself to keep smiling. “That’s not so bad, right?”

“We’ll manage,” Grantaire says. “I believe in us.”

“Good,” Enjolras says. “I should probably go,” he then says. “These cross-country phone calls are hell for my bank account.”

Grantaire laughs again. “Alright then, cheapskate,” he says. “I’ll let you go. Call me tomorrow, not on your mobile.”

“I will,” Enjolras says. “I love you.”

Grantaire chuckles, soft and low. “I love you too, Enjolras.”

Enjolras smiles holding the phone to his ear for a moment longer, drinking in the words, and then he hangs up, beaming down at his phone.

“I take it that went well?” Combeferre says, grinning.

Enjolras looks up with a matching expression and says, “Eh, not bad.”

**Author's Note:**

> please listen to lullaby by front porch step it's perfect for this fic. "you ask me where i want to be; i show you where you are"
> 
> I have a writing blog: theskyis-forever come say hi and leave a prompt :)
> 
> Also, if you enjoyed this: [buy me a coffee?](http://ko-fi.com/A831F9U)


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